Grim Consequences of Love
by refined.x
Summary: Hermione is stricken by the sight of the mangled boy before her, and her begs for answers are choked out in pained weeps. Once she finally receives a name, her world is turned upsidedown....


The sky was dark, shrouded completely in a mist of clouds and fog. Hermione glanced around for her friends, wild-eyed and frantic as she moved swiftly down the dark street. Something had happened, but the fog wasn't giving her any answers; she needed to see Harry and Draco. Could a duel possibly have had this large of an effect? Racking her brain, book titles ran through her mind rapidly until she remembered the ones that discussed wizarding duels. Of all the books she'd read in her life, it was absolutely nothing like what she was experiencing tonight. Coughing, she put a hand to her mouth to shield herself from the potent gases that seemed to be roaming around in the air. Whatever had happened, it had been _big_, and she felt her fist clench at the thought, for she was torn. Whose side was she on once she found them? _If _she found them? More than likely their little brawl had been about her, and she held herself fully responsible for not being able to tell the truth when it really mattered.

Shaking her head in disgust at herself, she quickened her pace down the dark road. Trees that would have been lovely during the day but now looked eerie and secretive lined the street, blowing in the strong winds and mocking her every step. She fought to control her breathing, her brown curly hair blowing violently as a result of the wind. This entire night just didn't seem _right_, and she was on the verge of paranoia. Had they died? What if they'd both turned against her, and were following her now? With a sharp intake of breath, she quickly banished the thoughts and tried to maintain her sanity. Draco would never do anything to hurt her, and neither would Harry. They were both just a little mad, but they would get over it. The gusting winds, the fog, and the dramatically darkened sky were simply a coincidence—they, in no way what-so-ever, tied into the web she'd woven—or so she told herself. Of course, the sight she saw at the end of the street was not comforting and served as proof that wizards had indeed created this awful night in some twisted hatred they both bore for each other. Hermione was shocked, and stumbled to a halt in front of the monstrous sight she was witnessing.

At the end of the street, right in front of Harry Potter's house, was a dome-shaped circle of green. Wind seemed to be emitted from the circle, building up around it and pulling trees, the sidewalk, and parts of the road into its center. Biting back her breath, her eyes widened and for a few moments all she could so was stand there, her mouth agape and her hair blowing in a frenzy. The sky above the green was dark, like a black hole. In her shock, Hermione's common sense abandoned her and she put a hand to her head, trying to hold down her relentlessly blowing hair. As she peered at it, she saw that inside the circle was one figure, a male, standing up and looking down at something. Was it Draco? Harry? Sucking in her breath, she dared not breathe again as she stumbled awkwardly to the center of the circle, feeling heat radiating off of its outer 'shell'. And then she saw that lovely blonde hair… those dazzling features that the man she loved possessed. Upon seeing him alive, she left paranoia and doubt behind—he was _alive_, and everything would be okay. And then she remembered Harry.

Letting out a gasp, she bounded into the green circle, realizing it was flames that were giving off the heat. Somehow, however, she entered completely unscathed—but bearing a horrified expression. Her actions hadn't yet registered though: she feared for Harry; for the truth of her love for Draco. Harry had loved her too, but not the way she felt he was supposed to. They were best friends, and though he didn't fall into the same category as Draco, he was still largely a contributor to her nausea and disgruntled aura upon seeing them within this bloodcurdling orb. "DRACO!" She screeched, sickened by what she stumbled over upon entering the green flames. The world spun around her in a mixture of greenish hues, but she fought to stay conscious. The figure, lying on the heated asphalt below her, was Harry. Coughing, she struggled to sit up and swiftly removed his mangled glasses from his face. "DRACO!" Tears were rolling down her cheeks now, and she clutched her stomach tightly. Harry's eyes were closed, shut firmly by charred lids. His features, once handsome, were suffering third-degree burn. Her shrieks were deafeningly loud, forcing her partner to listen to the pain he'd caused her.

And then he looked at her. His eyes, once unfeeling, peered at her shaking form with distress. She knew him well, and though her vision was obscured by the wet tears streaming down her cheeks, she could tell that his eyes weren't guilty, but appalled. Looking confused and hurt, she lifted her head up and choked out, "What is this?" As if woken from a trance that confined him to communication by eye contact, he leapt toward her and took her shaking body in his arms, holding her close. Putting his chin to the top of her head, he allowed her to bury her face in his chest. The figure behind him was terrifying, and even he didn't possess the courage to look at the burnt body. "Shh, Hermione, shh." He was trying to console her, and she felt herself resenting him for it.

"YOU DID THIS!" She shrieked, needing someone to lay blame on. Draco, looking disturbed, replied quietly, "No, I didn't." With that, he held her tighter, fighting her attempts at ripping herself from his grasp. Trembling with her tears, she said against his chest, "Then who?" After her scream, her voice sounded weak, as if those few yelps were all she had in her. Silence settled between them, omitting the constant flow of her tears and her struggled breathing. His hand rubbed her back gently, comfortingly. As the stillness was prolonged, she felt herself growing feeble in his arms, still very much distressed but unable to demonstrate it. "Who- who killed Harry?" The word 'killed' felt like acid on her tongue, and she felt Draco twitch slightly upon hearing the word, as if he hadn't dared to think of it before. "Who?" She croaked once more, not liking the silence. In mere seconds, Draco's arms began to feel unfamiliar and strange being around her. Choking on her own tears, she noticed that his hand had stopped rubbing her back… Perhaps it would have been better if he'd been Harry's killer… that way she wouldn't have to feel so anxious about hearing who it _really_ was.

Shoulders shaking ferociously, she lifted her face from his chest and looked at him through red, puffy eyes. His gray eyes, tearless but obviously pained, met hers. For a few moments, it was all they could do to stare at each other, neither knowing what to say or do to console the other. "Hermione—" Draco began quietly, but she cut him off, managing to screech, "Don't do this! Say the _damn name_, Draco!" Reaching up a hand, she wiped her nose and allowed another go of tears to cascade down her cheeks. She shut her eyes tightly, not wanting to cry but unable to stop. Right behind Draco, practically burnt to a crisp, was her best friend. He was always _helping_ people… He didn't deserve to die, especially at age _twenty-three!_ Moaning, her head dropped down in embarrassment. Draco was being strong… there wasn't a single sign of a tear on his face. _But then again, why would there be?_ Hermione wished she could clear her face of tears, but after all her years of learning she knew no spell for that. Nor did she know a spell to bring back the dead.

"My… my…" Draco's voice—so frequently calm, cool, and collective—was now shaky as he stuttered out the beginning of an explanation. Lifting her head up as best she could, Hermione studied his face through her blurry vision. Seeing him now, he didn't feel like her Draco anymore. He felt like someone entirely different from the man she'd come to love. _Her_ Draco had been fun loving, with a bit of a short temper, but a deeper, compassionate side. He didn't scare easily, but whatever had happened to Harry had left him petrified. He sighed, averting his gaze to the street they were sitting on.

"My father," he said, looking more than a little uncomfortable.


End file.
